


In Dark Unopened Books (The Great Secret Lies)

by PoliticallyObsessedScholar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Child Sexual Abuse, Gen, Incest, Rape, Repressed memory, post-3B, season 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 04:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12161235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoliticallyObsessedScholar/pseuds/PoliticallyObsessedScholar
Summary: It hadn't bothered Stiles before, not until the invader prodded at the holes in his memory and laughed. It had laughed so hard the bandages started to peel from its face."Oh, this explains everything," It said as it turned its dead eyes on Stiles "I'm going to enjoy this."





	In Dark Unopened Books (The Great Secret Lies)

It hadn't bothered Stiles before, not until the invader prodded at the holes in his memory and laughed. It had laughed so hard the bandages started to peel from its face.

"Oh, this explains everything," It said as it turned its dead eyes on Stiles "I'm going to enjoy this."

Stiles could see it, sometimes, looking at something within Stiles that he couldn't make out. Then there were the times It would look at his dad and Stiles would have screamed but... It didn't look hungry or ready to attack. No, the invader looked at Sheriff Stilinski like he was something dangerous and unknown but potentially exploitable.

He woke, sometimes, in his mind after one of those staring matches knowing that It hadn't been in control but still not knowing what happened.

He tried to tell himself that it didn't bother him.

~

~

The thing about the invader was that It dressed itself in Stiles' skin and he'd been so sure he'd be fine because It did things Stiles couldn't fathom. It would stiffen ever so slightly every time his dad walked in the room. It wouldn't let Peter out of its line of sight. It stayed just out of range of any older, male, authorities. 

All of which should have given It away.

The problem was that nobody noticed.

He'd asked It in confusion after It made another one of those odd blocking decisions if it was fear and It laughed again.

"Oh, Stiles" it said, and let him see memories of millennia of chaos visited on powerful men. "That's not it at all"

~

~

Apparently his anchor had been all wrong. 

~

~

He screamed that he didn't understand how they couldn't  _notice_  something was wrong.

"I was acting completely different, what the hell is wrong with you?"

They'd stared at him and then Lydia had stepped forward daintily. Her red hair was falling in untamed wisps from her head, her skin was pale, and her arms were shaking as she held them out towards him then gripped him tightly.

"Stiles," she said slowly, carefully, "Your behaviour only looks different because you know It wasn't you but It had centuries of practice. It knew what It was doing."

That made no sense.

~

~

Isaac asked him, once, why he hadn't said anything when he started to miss things. Stiles didn't know how to say that it wasn't much different to how he was normally. By the time he realised he was loosing time as well as memory, it was too late then.

~

~

The thing with possession, especially a possession like that, was that it made him hyper-aware of his own behaviour. 

He stiffened slightly when his dad entered a room.

He relaxed when his dad left.

He kept Peter in his eyesight all the time.

He stayed just out of reach of older, male, authority figures.

He noticed other things too.

He noticed that he wouldn't sleep until he knew his dad wasn't going to be home or was sleeping himself.

He noticed that he would get up and lie down in front of his closed bedroom door if he thought he couldn't stay awake.

He didn't know how to dissect that.

~

~

It had laughed as it collapsed, told him "your comprehension would have tasted glorious."

~

~

Thoughts flashed in his head that didn't make sense, not with the life he'd led. He thought it might be because of the things It had shown him but those memories felt like he was living a movie.

It hadn't felt anything like that one night he'd sat on the coach with his dad, drinks and snacks in hand, and there was a glint in his eye that made him want to shrink all the way down or run. He couldn't remember anything else that happened after that, which was normal but starting to make him feel uncomfortable in ways he didn't want to think about.

It hadn't made him feel sick when Malia touched him, hadn't made him feel slightly desperate and hungry at the same time, hadn't been the thoughts running through his head that said:  _I thought it would be better like this, why the fuck isn't it better like this?_

It had long since crumbled to dust when his dad reached towards him on pack night and he'd thrown the remote at his head and shouted "stay the fuck away from me!"

~

~

Google search: "identifying repressed memories"

Google search: "BASK model"

Google search: "identifying false memories"

~

~

He woke gasping and then he started clawing at his head. What the fuck was wrong with him? How the fuck could he think anything like that? How the fuck could his brain come up with those images? With that perfect sensory detail and imprint of how his dad would look if he was... He was sick. He was corrupted. It had done something to him. Changed him. It had to have.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway and he felt his heart stop.

He didn't remember what happened after that and when he woke he called a hotline instead of going to school.

"Why can't you just tell me, God, why? I just want to know, please, please, please can't you just tell me how I can know if this is true or, or... I am so scared and I don't understand. Just tell me, I don't want to think this, I don't want to look at him and wonder. I shouldn't. He loves me, he loves me, he wouldn't, would he? Why aren't you saying anything!"

~

~

When Derek withdrew his claws from his neck, his eyes were red and there were fangs emerging from his mouth. Stiles' legs gave out and he was crying great heaving sobs, a litany of "I hoped I was crazy, oh God I hoped I was crazy, why couldn't I be crazy" spilling out unrelentingly.

~

~

Derek went with him to help him pack. He stood in his childhood bedroom and knew. He didn't remember but he knew and  _fuck_  that was just wrong. That he'd been so completely violated and he couldn't even remember how or when. He had a vague idea, he could pinpoint when his memories started to become selectively present, but he couldn't stand in front of his dad and say you did  _this_  to me  _then_  and  _there_  because he'd stolen that too, in a way.

The perfect crime, he thought hysterically as he packed his books into a box.

There were footsteps coming down the hall and then he stood there, in the door, tan sheriff's slacks and holstered gun.

"Stiles?" he said, furrowing his brow. "What are you doing?"

Derek moved as if he was going to stand in front of him or push his dad out of the way. He shook his head.

"I'm leaving," he said, voice steadier than he'd expected "I'm not coming back and you're going to stay far away from me, or I swear to God we'll kill you and they'll think an animal did it."

His father blinked, nonplussed. "Why? I... Stiles, I don't understand."

Next to him, he could hear Derek start to rumble a threat but he didn't look. Instead he stared straight at the man he'd idolised for his entire life.

"I remembered"

The Sheriff went white.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Charles Simic's _In the Library_


End file.
